


Band Aids and Shades of Blue

by siriusissues



Category: DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Drug Addiction, Drug Use, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, angst cause i can't write anything else, tim and roy are friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-08-07 13:32:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7716625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriusissues/pseuds/siriusissues
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Roy thinks he only hates Jason because he's too much like Roy himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Midnight

**Author's Note:**

> lmao this doesn't follow a certain timeline cause that shit confuses me too much

Jason is destruction. He's loaded guns and colourful pills and the burning ashes of a cigarette.  
  
He's a purple bruise, a nasty scar, a broken lip.  
  
He's cheap whiskey and black ink and worn out leather jackets.  
  
Jason is destruction and frankly, destruction is the only thing Roy's ever been good at.  
  
_ _ _  
  
"You think too much."  
  
Jason turns his head slowly to quirk a brow at Roy. The redhead is chewing gently on his bottom lip, picking at the dry skin with his teeth until he's tasting blood. He sweeps his tongue over his lip then, frowning at the taste of iron.  
  
"I think too much?" Jason says slowly, like he's unsure of the answer on a test he didn't study for.  
  
But this is not a test. This is not school. This is not the future they were promised but got anyway.  
  
This is just two men sitting on a bathroom floor in some beat up and abandoned apartment by Gotham's far west coast.  
  
"Yeah," Roy answers. He sounds distant, like he's already forgotten what they were just talking about. He's too busy trying to stop his lip from bleeding, pressing a fingertip to it until he can lick it again without the bitter taste of iron. After years of crime fighting, one would think he's gotten used to bleeding by now. He has, but he still doesn't like it.  
  
He guesses, only to himself, that he doesn't like knowing that he's mortal. That he can die for every beat his heart does. That his blood is only a sign of that.  
  
Jason, on the other hand, finds a strange comfort in knowing that every breath he takes could be his last. If you've been dead once, you don't exactly fear it anymore. At least that's what he tries to tell himself after every nightmare.  
  
"It's like…" Roy shrugs, long hair falling into his face. "I don't know, man. It's like for every day that passes, you spend more and more time inside your own head and I'm just… Fuck, I'm just stuck here."  
  
He's still not looking at Jason, who has to choke down a laugh cause if he starts he's not sure if he'll ever be able to stop and he doesn't feel like laughing himself to death. Not tonight, at least. Tomorrow, maybe.  
  
"Well, I'd rather be stuck out here with you, but we can't always get what we want, can we?"  
  
Roy purses his lips in a thin line, lowering his head a bit so his cap casts shadows over his face. Then, he shrugs again, his shoulders tense.  
  
"Apparently not," he hisses as he looks up, green eyes meeting Jason's teal blue ones. An odd part of Jason feels like Roy's words are holding a deeper meaning, like he's referring to something else. Something different, something out of Jason's imagination. He doesn't point it out, though.  
  
Some things should never have any attention brought to them. Some things are better left untouched. Sometimes Jason thinks he's one of those things.  
  
They fall into a silence. It's not tense, but neither is it comfortable. It's just… them. It's just Jason Todd and Roy Harper and two worlds colliding with such force that they might choke on the ashes left by themselves.  
  
Jason enjoys the silence. Roy wants to crawl out of his own skin.  
  
_ _ _  
  
"I like you better when you don't talk."  
  
Roy snorts and rolls his eyes. He rolls over in bed, getting himself all tangled up in the dirty sheets, waiting for sleep to seek him out.  
  
"Funny. I like you better when you do talk," he murmurs into the crook of his own arm. He can hear Jason hum, then he closes his eyes.  
  
"Gonna make sure to speak less, then, just for you," the darker haired man says as he ashes his cigarette, watching the grey dust fall to the floor. The sarcasm is dripping from his voice, but it still holds some kind of truth that Roy wants to ignore but can't.  
  
"Thanks. It feels good knowing you're at least doing _that_ for me," Roy says as he shifts in bed, opening his eyes again only to look directly at Jason.  
  
The other man is standing by the bedroom window with his back to the archer. He's only wearing underwear and Roy wonders, briefly, if he's cold. But he's Jason and he's always cold, even when he's burning hot with rage.  
  
When too many seconds has passed and Jason still hasn't said anything back to Roy, the red haired man knows his words cut deep enough for him to finally roll over again and fall asleep.  
  
When he wakes up, Jason's gone.  
  
_ _ _  
  
There was a time, when Roy was way younger and his life was way brighter, that he misses more than anything.  
  
He thinks back to his youth, when the cigarettes had been more of a joke than a painful comfort. He thinks of the nights spent with his old friends before they all had left one by one and he became restless instead of safe. He thinks of the innocent kisses that eventually turned into sex, before sex became fucking for the sake of a release.  
  
He thinks of Jason, when his laugh was sweet honey instead of burning whiskey. When his smile was welcoming and not intoxicating. When his hands were steady as they cupped Roy's face, and not trembling with the pills that should help him sleep but only makes him seem even more… Gone.  
  
Around the same time, Roy had wished so deeply that he would fall in love. He watched all of his friends fall in love, saw them bubbling with happiness and bloom into something pure.  
  
He had wanted to fall in love, too, so badly that he no longer could fall asleep at night.  
  
He had wanted to love, and be loved in return.  
  
From day to day, he met new people with charming smiles and inviting eyes, and from night to night he would sneak out when not out on patrol, and spend a few hours in their bedrooms.  
  
They kissed, they laughed, they fucked, he left.  
  
It would always be like that. He met someone, spent some time with them, told himself he had feelings for them, made them believe he was in love before never seeing them again.  
  
He thinks that he fell in love with wanting to be in love, but never fell for anyone he met.  
  
Jason looks at him. Blinking once, twice. He shoves at Roy's shoulder, making him stumble and lose balance briefly. He probably deserves the glare Roy shoots in his direction.  
  
"And _you_ told me that _I_ think too much," Jason snorts, rolling his eyes as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Sure, baby."  
  
This time Roy blinks, clearly lost. He tilts his head a bit to the left, like he usually does when confused. Jason refuses to admit that he's picked up on all of Roy's little quirks. He sighs, looking away.  
  
"You're thinking too hard again, Harper. Give yourself some rest," he mutters.  
  
Roy kicks away a tiny rock, watching it bounce once before rolling away down the road strecting out wide before them.  
  
"Have you ever been in love, Todd?" It's too sudden, too odd. Roy's not sure why he asked, how the thought ever crossed his mind. But now when the question's out in the open, he finds himself curious for an answer.  
  
Jason visibly tenses from head to toe. Roy can see his eyes going wide before he squeezes them shut and the breath he releases is shuddering, almost painful.  
  
"Yeah," he then says after a moment. Roy pretends he doesn't see the little smile playing on the other man's lips.  
  
The red haired man nods. He tilts his chin upwards, looking at the stars shining down upon them. The only light they'll ever have.  
  
"Well, I haven't," he tells Jason when the silence becomes too much for him to bear with.  
  
He can feel Jason's eyes staring at the side of his head. Can feel the other man take a deep breath. Can feel him all around himself. Can feel him drifting away.  
  
"Lucky you. I envy you," the man with the brown leather jacket says coldly. The sudden change in his mood doesn't go unnoticed by Roy, who turns slightly to quirk a brow at him.  
  
Jason laughs. It's bitter and sad and it makes him wanna die. Then he laughs again and again and again and he laughs until he can't breathe properly anymore and has to clutch his stomach to keep from falling to his knees. He laughs until he almost vomits and until the tears are falling freely down he's face and he's not sure if it's because he's laughing too hard or if the pain is becoming too much, at last.  
  
When he finally stops, he wipes at his eyes, then turns to grin at Roy who's just staring at him like he just punched him in the face. He reaches out and puts a hand on Roy's shoulder, rubbing it with his thumb before letting his hand drop again.  
  
"God, it's fucking awful," Jason says, still grinning.  
  
Roy frowns. "Being in love is fucking awful?"  
  
"Yeah. Stay the fuck away from it, Harper."  
  
_ _ _  
  
Roy's not sure when excatly it became a regular thing, but almost every night Jason would climb in through his bedroom window and Roy would take whatever he could get his hands on.  
  
Tonight's no different.  
  
Jason's skin is burning under his hands and Roy wonders briefly if he can feel it, too, or if he's always cold like his death froze the blood in his veins. He shakes that thought off, though, when a soft whimper breaks through the room.  
  
Jason is straddling his waist, firm hands with calloused fingers gripping Roy's shoulders like he's grasping for his life. They're both shirtless and Roy's missing his pants that probably are somewhere in his room. He won't need them until morning, anyway. Jason's eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted in a silent gasp, his forehead glistening with sweat.  
  
Yeah, Roy can get used to this. He's just not sure if Jason can.  
  
The redhead's hands are gripping the other man's hips tightly as he bucks up, tearing a groan from the back of his throat. They're both panting. They're both eager like wild animals and Roy's always so good at seeming so collected and in control of himself but he's a fucking mess and only during these moments does it really show.  
  
He shivers as Jason's nails dig into his skin and he's sure he'll bleed by the end of it. He doesn't mind. Can't exactly blame Jason when he does the same thing himself. He moves his hands away from Jason's hips and his fingers tremble as they fumble with the zipper to the other man's jeans. At the same time, Jason dives down and before Roy can register it they're fucking kissing and he almost moans when Jason's tongue slips past his lips, clashing with his own.  
  
It's so hot in the room that Roy thinks he's gonna suffocate any moment now, especially when Jason brings the air out of his lungs like it's some game and he's the one who invented it. He pushes Jason's jeans down over the curve of his ass, making him break the kiss with a shaky breath.  
  
"Wanna fucking ride you, Harper," he breathes out between bites and licks at Roy's jaw and Roy's breath hitches as it takes his everything not to melt under Jason's weight.  
  
"Fuck," he mutters and he doesn't even try to hide the whimper making his voice waver. "God, Jason, yes. Yeah, fuck."  
  
Jason chuckles, sending shivers down Roy's spine and he swears he can feel the dark haired man smirk against his neck. He's always smirking, always grinning, never smiling. Roy bucks his hips again and has to resist biting his bottom lip until it's broken as he loses contact with Jason. The younger man is hovering above the redhead as he shoves his pants down the rest of the way, then tossing them away in the very far corner.  
  
Roy's vision is starting to blur because Jason is so incredibly hot and Jason is gonna ride him and Jason's scent is musky and sharp with a hint of gunpowder and Jason is everywhere and all around him and all Roy can think is _Jason Jason Jason_ until he can't see anymore. Until he can only feel. Can only be.  
  
At some point Jason gets their underwear off and Roy does only snap back to reality at the cold feeling of lube dropping on his thigh. He almost comes right then and there at the sight before him, silently thanking every god he can think of in his head.  
  
Jason is now straddling his hips and his head is thrown back, tiny whimpers and quiet moans escaping his parted lips as his arm moves back and forth, his hand hidden behind himself. Roy places his hands on the other's thighs, squeezing them and feeling the strong muscles flex and tense as Jason's standing on his knees to keep his body up.  
  
Roy can feel his own fingers gripping Jason's thighs even harder as the realisation hits him that Jason is fingering himself open and _fuck_ he looks strangely beautiful. Roy resists telling him that, though, cause Jason can't be beautiful. He doesn't want to. Nothing about Jason Todd is beautiful and he would probably slit Roy's throat if he knew what he was thinking.  
  
Suddenly sticky fingers are sliding across his abdomen and Roy looks up just in time to find Jason's piercing teal eyes staring down at him with such hunger, like it's the end of the world and Roy is his last meal.  
  
"You ready, lover boy?" Jason smirks at him, his eyes glimting with something Roy can't put a name on.  
  
The red haired man rolls his eyes, wanting to knock the smirk right off of his face then kiss him until neither can breathe properly anymore.  
  
"You're the one about to have a fucking cock in your ass, Todd. _I_ should be the one asking _you_ if you're ready."  
  
Jason snorts and mutters something under his breath. Roy doesn't even bother trying to catch it. Then time is moving too slow again before speeding away too fast as Jason wraps his rough fingers around Roy's cock and it feels so good Roy almost swallows his own tongue when trying to hold back a moan.  
  
At first it's slow but steady, as Jason sinks down inch by inch until his ass is seated perfectly against Roy's hips and they're both letting out broken breaths with their eyes shut closed. But then Jason's eyelids flutter and he brings his hungry gaze towards Roy who has his head thrown back on a dirty pillow.  
  
He moves, teasingly, trying to bring out Roy's wild side and break him down piece by piece only to build him up stronger than ever before. But Roy's already a complete mess and right now Jason is his only lifeline but it's just sex, just a quick fuck, then they're done and can go back to their shitty lives like Jason isn't even riding him right now and like he never fucked Roy on the kitchen counter the other day.  
  
Soon enough, they're building up a pace. It's fast and rough and hard and Jason's whimpers are echoing through the room along with Roy's breathy moans. It's dangerous and risky and Roy can't get enough of it. Can't get enough of Jason's hot tightness and his strong thighs and the way he's rocking back and forth like he might just die if he stops for just a split second.  
  
Jason places his hands on either side of Roy's head, palms flat against the pillow and his eyes are burning. There's a heat in his icy teal orbs that Roy wants to drown in. He knows that, if he doesn't look away soon, he's probably gonna say something he'll regret before he's even finished talking. But he can't look away. Doesn't want to. Can't. He finds himself stuck in Jason's hot gaze and his eyes that are blown wide with lust and arousal and never has Roy been this turned on ever before.  
  
He smirks, the man with the grey streak in his hair, and leans down until their faces are inches apart. His breath is coming out in tiny, puffy clouds, hitting Roy's lips for every exhale and stealing parts of him for every inhale. It's like Roy is his cigarette, his nicotine, and Jason is addicted. It's too much like the reality crashing all around them. An addict. Jason Todd, addict, killer, dead but still alive. Jason Todd, the man who brings destruction to the world with his bare hands, without breaking a sweat.  
  
Jason Todd, who has so much power, so much control, lost himself when he died, and became a slave to self destruction when he was brought back to life.  
  
He's also the man currently sinking down on Roy's cock before bringing his hips up again and again and again so fast that Roy is actually kind of surprised that both of them yet has to come. He closes his eyes just in time to feel Jason's lips on his own again, parting them with his tongue and licking into his mouth. But the kiss is slow, so unlike their fucking. Jason is a man who fucks hard, fast and rough. A man who has no time for cuddles after, but would rather light a cigarette and disappear into the night. He's a man who never makes love, only fucks. But he puts his everything into every single thing he does, and it never fails to amaze Roy.  
  
"Stop fucking thinkin' so much, Harper," Jason breathes against Roy's wet and kiss swollen lips.  
  
Roy swallows thickly. He often forgets how well the other man can read him. How well he knows him and his quirks. But he never points it out, though, that Jason seems to know Roy better than he knows himself. No one knows Jason Todd. Knows his name, yeah. But not _him_.  
  
The redhead tilts his head backwards and slides his hands over Jason's smooth skin. His fingertips stop now and then, tracing a scar and a birthmark that somehow survived the pit. Jason never talks about it. How do you talk to someone about being dead and then coming back to life with issues you've never known? He wonders, for just a second, if Jason ever counts every scar and freckle and mark to make sure no one's missing. He wonders if Jason counted them before he died, and if he blames himself if he didn't. He wonders if he ever panics, freaks out, and tries to scrub his skin off in the shower when he thinks one is missing. Maybe that's why he showers for _hours_ sometimes.  
  
"Seriously," Jason hisses against his jaw, nipping at the skin there with sharp teeth. "You're gonna drive _me_ crazy with _your_ thinking."  
  
Roy huffs out a laugh. It's breathless and he sounds defeated rather than amused. He knows that part of Jason's words are true. They're both always on the edge, ready to break down completely. He knows they're both grasping for the little sanity they have left, before they lose themselves.  
  
"Sorry," Roy whimpers instead of letting his thoughts out. Jason shakes his head.  
  
"Shut up," he pants against Roy's neck before he lifts his head again to look down at the redhead. "Tomorrow, Harper, I'm gonna fuck you real fucking good." That tears a desperete whine from deep within Roy's chest.  
  
Roy can't speak. He's too lost in the feeling of _Jason_. Instead he just grips Jason's hips harder, fingers digging into skin and creating crescent moons. He pushes up, meeting Jason every time he goes down and they go faster, it gets messy and it's unsteady. But he's getting closer, can feel the heat bubbling in the pit of his stomach making his balls tighten and his vision blur and his breathing heavy.  
  
Jason is gripping at his shoulders again, tearing at it with his blunt nails and marking Roy with something new. Maybe Roy can count his own marks later, in case he were to die as well. Just to make sure. Just to know. Jason's head is hanging between his shoulders and his eyebrows are furrowed together. He's biting hard on his bottom lip, blood prickling down his chin slowly and his eyes are shut closed. Roy knows that look now. He's about to come.  
  
He wraps his slender fingers around Jason's cock and strokes, squeezing a little at the head and making precome run down his hand. He does it again. Then again. Then one more time and Jason is coming with a cry and a choke as he slumps against Roy's chest all sticky with his come.  
  
He stays like that for a moment, trying to catch his breath and regain his energy and maybe if he ditched his cigarettes it wouldn't be so fucking hard to just fuck sometimes and maybe he could enjoy the afterglow instead of feeling like he might throw his lungs up.  
  
Roy shifts a bit under Jason's weight. The man with the dark hair lifts his head and the fire in his eyes seems to have burned out, like there's just a small glow left and it needs fuel to burn bright and dangerous again. He pushes himself up, still panting heavily.  
  
"You k-know you don't have--" Roy pants between breathy groans.  
  
"Fuck, Harper, have I ever not finished something that I started?"  
  
_Yes_. _Yes, you have_. _Like your path to happiness_. _You never got to the end of it_.  
  
Roy keeps quiet and shakes his head, long strands of ginger hair getting stuck to his sweaty forehead and all it takes is four more thrusts up until he's coming with a shudder and a deep moan. Jason helps him through it, slowing down and riding out his orgasm until they're both two panting messes with semen all over their glistening bodies.  
  
It feels like ages before Jason moves again. He gets up to stand on shaky legs and frowns at the come dripping down his inner thigh. If he gets dressed now, there'll be stains. He stretches and turns away from Roy who watches his every move with blown eyes and an uneven rise and fall of his chest.  
  
Jason reaches for his brown leather jacket and pulls out a packet of cigarettes. Marlboro, always Marlboro. Roy knows so. Doesn't ask why. He lights it then tosses the lighter away, and when he takes his first drag and feels the toxic flow through his veins, he almost feels stupid for thinking that he should give up smoking. Smoking, that is his only lifeline. The only thing making sure he gets through the next day without tearing his hair out.  
  
"You can use the shower, if you wanna," Roy mumbles as he shields his eyes from any source of light. He always offers Jason a chance to properly clean up before slipping out of Roy's window again and put his hood on and bring terror in the shape of crime fighting to the streets of Gotham.  
  
"Alright," Jason hums and at that Roy moves his arm away from his face, staring at him with wide eyes.  
  
"What?" Roy's frowning in confusion.  
  
" _Alright_ ," Jason says again through the smoke of another drag and Roy just nods, slowly and unsure.  
  
Jason never takes up his offer on showering, never says anything after he gets his after sex cigarette. The red haired man is mostly just shocked, but also curious as to why Jason just decided to change his answer one night. The question is right there, on the tip of his tongue, but instead he just nods again and watches Jason pick his clothes up and disappear into the bathroom with the dirty tiles that once were white.  
  
When Jason later comes back he's fully dressed and Roy is starting to get dizzy. He still has the cigarette between his lips, like it's the only thing giving him life although it's killing him at the same time. He tosses something at Roy who catches it by instinct and the redhead can feel his stomach drop when he sees what Jason found.  
  
"I hope the heroin makes you feel as good as I do," Jason mutters coldly. He moves across the room towards the still open window and in one second he's already half way out.  
  
"Could say the same thing about your cigarettes, Todd," Roy shoots back as he clenches his fist around the needle, wanting to crush it even though he knows he currently needs it more than anything. Maybe that's the point. Maybe he just wants to punish himself by not letting himself have what the truly wants. What he truly needs.  
  
Jason snorts then tosses his other leg over the windowsill. "Not the same thing." Then he's gone.  
  
"Still an addiction, though."


	2. Cyan

"Did you quit?"  
  
Jason is standing in his doorway and he's soaking wet. The cold water is dripping from his suit and onto the stone floor of the hallway and he must've just been on patrol. He's not wearing his usual Red Hood mask nor his domino mask and the strands of his hair look almost icy. Like diamonds. Like his eyes.  
  
The eyes Roy can only see when he desperetly tries to find sleep. The eyes haunting him wherever he goes. The eyes he never could forget, not even with the help of amnesia.  
  
He narrows his eyes at Jason and leans against the doorframe. "Quit what?"  
  
There's a flash of something unknown crossing his stone hard features and Roy can't put a name on it cause he's never seen it in Jason's expression before.  
  
"Todd, it's been a month since you last spoke to me. You can't just--"  
  
Jason raises his hand that earns him a roll of the eyes from Roy. The redhead crosses his arms in defense. He's on the edge. Ready to dodge whatever Jason decides to throw at him; punches, kicks, words, anything. Ready to turn around and grab his already packed bags and make a quick escape for New York City.  
  
He's ready. But he won't.  
  
"Did you quit?" The dark haired man asks again. His expression is still unreadable. His fists are clenched by his sides, the gauntlets creaking, the leather jacket draped over tense shoulders.  
  
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Roy snaps at him. He can't help himself. His jaw is clenched tight, making his teeth hurt.  
  
"Did you fucking quit the fucking drugs, Harper?!" And now they're yelling in the hallway of Roy's apartment building and it's three in the morning and he's gonna get kicked out, he's sure of it.  
  
"No! Why the hell would I?!" He yells back and oddly enough that catches Jason off guard.  
  
The man with the leather jacket looks pained. Looks hurts. Like he somehow expected a different answer. A better answer. A lie, maybe. Something different from the truth now sinking into his mind, probably. Something else. Something that Roy isn't.  
  
They fall into a tense silence and Roy is tempted to just slam the door in Jason's face and never look back. But he can't. There's that still unreadable look in Jason's eyes and if Roy walked away now he'd regret it until the day he no longer exists.  
  
Jason closes his eyes for a moment and takes a few deep breaths. If Roy just looks a little closer, focuses his sight a little bit more, takes one more step towards the taller man, he swears that he could see the mental conflict he's going through. But he doesn't. His shoes are glued to the floor and he can't move.  
  
Everything stills. Jason looks away, turns around to leave.  
  
"This," he says to Roy with a chuckle that is so bittersweet the redhead shivers and chokes on his own breath. " _This_ ," he says again and gestures around him with his arms. "This is the last fucking time I cry over you."  
  
Before Roy can say anything back, though, Jason is gone and he's left in the doorway with wide eyes and rain water drying on the hallway floor.  
  
On a second thought, maybe it isn't water from the rain. Maybe it's water from tears.  
  
But Jason Todd doesn't cry. He never cries. He never sheds a tear, never chokes back a sob. He just hits harder, runs faster, pulls the trigger with burning anger.  
  
Jason Todd doesn't cry. The Red Hood doesn't cry. He never does.  
  
The whole situation is so bizarre that Roy isn't even sure if it actually happened or if it was just a trick by his mind. If he tells himself enough times that he's just fully dressed in the bathtub filled with lukewarm water, with his arm tied and a needle poking through his pale skin, then maybe he'll convince himself that it's true. It wouldn't be the first time.  
  
But it wouldn't work. He knows it's not true. He knows that Jason Todd just visited him and left with tears and an unspoken promise of something Roy does not know. It must be true. It has to. Jason's eyes never lie and no matter how hard he tries to, Roy can't get the eyes right in his hallucinations. They were real.  
  
Roy has never felt this alone before.  
  
Alone. Lonely. On your own.  
  
_ _ _  
  
It's been a long time, Roy realizes, since he last saw Jason.  
  
They don't work together anymore. They never patrol with each other nowadays. Jason never sneaks in through his bedroom window for a couple of hours and he never rings on Roy's doorbell with hungry eyes and even hungrier kisses.  
  
What bothers Roy the most, though, is that he's not sure if he misses Jason or if he misses someone. He's not sure if he's sick of being alone or sick of not being around the other man.  
  
It wasn't until Jason left that he realized that he don't have anybody else. He no longer has his childhood friends, the titans, his parents. He no longer has Oliver. He guesses he now can add Jason's name to that list.  
  
He's completely on his own and he almost forgot how fucking horrible it is and how dark the nights really are and how quiet his flat is without the sound of someone humming under their breath when getting ready for a night running around on rooftops.  
  
Even after all those years without a stable person in his life, one would think that he's used to being on his own. But he's not. Not really. There's always been someone looking after him from the shadows, behind a corner, from afar. That someone was either Dick or Oliver when he was young, sometimes even Tim.  
  
Tim, Jason's replacement, who would cast another glance at Roy before going home for the night, just to make sure that he had a place to sleep at. Just to make sure. Like a guardian angel who somehow knew things about his life that everyone else failed to see.  
  
But then Tim just disappeared. Suddenly he wasn't there anymore. He's barely ever said a word to the kid but in some strange way he was still looking out for Roy, until Jason stepped into his life with loaded guns and charming smirks.  
  
Since that day, Jason was his _someone_. The person who made sure Roy had something to eat every day. The person who was looking out for him without actually doing so.  
  
But now Jason is also gone and Roy is about to drive himself crazy. Which is why he just rolls over in bed when he hears something knocking on the window. He believes it's just part of his imagination. Another trick of his mind. Another game and frankly, he doesn't feel like being a player in it this time.  
  
But the knocking doesn't stop, no matter how hard he squeezes his eyes shut and hides under the pillow like it's his only protection from the rest of the world. Maybe it is. Problems don't exist as long as you're in bed. He has convinced himself that he's safe there.  
  
Which he isn't, he realizes, as the window opens and he can hear a pair of feet landing on the floor with a soft _thump_. In a second he's already reached over the edge of the bed for his bow and an arrow, pointing it at whoever decided it would be a good idea to sneak into his apartment in the middle of the night.  
  
He blinks in confusion when he sees who it is and lowers his bow a bit, aiming it at the person's feet instead. He's shocked and unable to form real sentences and the person is frowning at him, hands raised in defense.  
  
"Tim?" He says but it's more a question than a statement.  
  
"Dammit, Roy, if you don't open the window the next time I'm gonna break it and not pay for it," he sighs and shoves the arrow away, making Roy put his bow aside.  
  
Roy still don't know what to say. He never expected to see Tim ever again, especially not in his own apartment. The younger man walks around the place like he owns it, lifting things and setting them down again after a moment, wiping away some dust, humming quietly to himself and not telling Roy what he's doing there.  
  
He clears his throat, which gives him Tim's attention. The black haired man raises a brow at him, silently asking him to speak.  
  
"So," Roy starts off, narrowing his eyes at Tim in suspicion. "Are you gonna tell me what you're doing here, sneaking into my apartment and all?"  
  
Tim's eyes widens a bit, like he forgot that he literally just broke into someone else's place. But Roy sees right through it, knows it's just an attempt to avoid the topic. Knows it's just an act. Another game.  
  
Tim shrugs and looks away, stroking his thumb over an old photograph from Roy's days with the titans and he feels an odd but strong urge to throw the photograph against a wall and burn it until it's nothing but ashes, like his life.  
  
"I don't know," Tim mumbles as he moves to the other side of the room, picking up a book from the floor and putting it back on a shelf. "Haven't seen you around for a while. Just wanted to make sure you haven't OD'd in your tub or something."  
  
Roy snorts and crosses his arms and Tim looks over at him again just when he's about to speak. He's interrupted before he even can get his first word out.  
  
"Don't," Tim says and there's a flash of something new in his eyes. His cyan eyes that look a lot like Jason's, like they really are brothers by blood and not just by paper.  
  
So much like Jason's but not quite the right shade of blue and he feels like he's getting stabbed in the chest cause the colour is so close but it's still not right and he misses Jason's teal eyes, wishing Tim's eyes weren't cyan. Wishing they were a bit darker with that comforting sparkle. Wishing they were Jason's.  
  
He swallows instead and asks in a quiet tone, "Don't what?"  
  
Tim rolls his eyes and turns away again. He moves with grace towards Roy where he's still sitting on the bed. He leans down, eyes sharp as knives as they stare into Roy's and they're just inches away now. "Don't start with some shitty excuses. Jason told me."  
  
"Told you what, baby bird?" Roy snorts.  
  
Then Tim grabs him by the collar and Roy is caught completely off guard as the younger man brings their faces even closer. The flash of something new that he saw in Tim's eyes earlier seem to be anger. He's furious. Almost burning and Roy can't breathe.  
  
"Don't. Don't start with your fucking games cause I don't have the time nor the patience. I'm not one to usually snap but, dammit, Roy, I know what's going on."  
  
Roy is gasping for air and he shuts his eyes. He can't look at Tim. He's never seen him angry before but the kid has a lot of bottled up rage and his grip on Roy's shirt is just tightening for every heart beat.  
  
"I see it. I see it all. You're so alone, Roy. You're so lonely and pale and you think we don't know, huh? About the drugs? About the shit in your head? Cause we do. We know it all."  
  
Several seconds passes and Roy still can't open his eyes because if he does he would have to look directly at Tim and his cyan eyes and he knows he wouldn't be able to handle it cause even though they're not Jason's eyes, they're still blue. Roy can't stand blue eyes. Blue is the colour of his pain.  
  
Nightwing blue. Teal blue. Cyan blue. Ocean and sky and midnight blue. Blue, blue, blue and he wants to vomit. So much blue. Too much blue. Lapis blue. Periwinkle blue. Azure blue. He swallows it down.  
  
"You think you're so misunderstood," Tim's voice is quiet now, almost gentle. His grip is slowly loosening. Roy is regaining his ability to breathe again. "But you're only misunderstood because you don't let anybody understand you."  
  
It hurts and he only nods. It takes some time for Tim to let go and only then does Roy open his eyes again. His green eyes. His emerald eyes. Not blue. Just green. Not pain and suffering. Just loneliness and illness. Still hurt, only in another way. Still alone, only in a different colour.  
  
Tim is still there, standing with his back to Roy and it all feels like a dream again and he wants to wake up more than anything.  
  
"He cares about you, you know," Tim murmurs softly as he begins to make his exit.  
  
Roy tilts his head to the side, watching the younger man questioningly. His voice is weak like a pained animal and in that moment he feels like one as he speaks, asking, "He does?"  
  
Tim nods and lingers for a moment by the window. "Yeah," he breathes out into the sleepless night. "Yeah, he does. You won't let anyone else do that, either."  
  
Then he's gone as fast as he came and Roy is left with even more questions and less answers than before.  
  
_ _ _  
  
Gotham's as dark as always, even with all the bright lights making the stars disappear. It kinda makes sense, in these moments, why the city needs a Dark Knight, after all. Watching over her like the saviour he is.  
  
Roy snorts at his thoughts. He's really not about to give the Batman any cred, not really. Admiring people has never done him any good in the past.  
  
He's not sure why he's still in Gotham when it's not even his territory.  
  
His bags are still packed, but it's not like he has a lot of prized possessions. Sometimes he thinks of walking out of his apartment without ever looking back, taking nothing with him, only his regret. He wonders how long it'd take for someone to notice that he's gone.  
  
The answer to that question is the only one he knows without having to put much thought into it. Still, for some reason, that's worse than not even having an answer.  
  
Some nights, when he falls harder than usual and when he can't find a vein, he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he should return to Star City. To Oliver. He knows that he must be miserable out of his mind to even think such a thing.  
  
He knows that to even think about going back to Oliver Queen must be his lowest point. That he's too lonely. That he's beyond saving.  
  
Not even a helpless man would consider returning to Star City. To Oliver, to the man who gave him a life full of opportunities but made him wanna die at the same time.  
  
But Roy is no man. To be a man you must be alive, but he doesn't feel alive anymore. He longs to know when he last did.  
  
"Hey," a voice says out of nowhere.  
  
Roy startles and almost falls off the side of the building. A gloved hand wraps around his wrist, though, and pulls him away from the edge in one swift motion. The redhead falls on his ass when the hand releases his arm and he scoffs, annoyed at whoever decided to disturb him.  
  
He rubs his arm gently, pulling at his gauntlets to try and cover some of the marks burning his skin. Although, for every night, they just become more and more and he knows that soon they can't be hidden anymore. Soon _everyone_ will know, but _no one_ will care.  
  
"Jesus christ," he mutters under his breath. He looks up to fix a glare at the other person. "What's up with you sneaking up on me all the time?"  
  
Tim shrugs. It's careless and Roy doesn't like it.  
  
"Thought you heard me coming long ago. Didn't realize you were lost in wonderland or whatever we should call the place inside your head," the younger man says without even sparing Roy a glance.  
  
The redhead snorts, not wanting to acknowledge the latter part of the comment. So instead he just puts on a grin, adjusts his cap and says, "Yeah, I didn't hear you come. I'd like to, though."  
  
He guesses he deserves the glare Tim throws in his direction.  
  
"Look, I'm not here to joke around or whatever, so spare us both the pain," he says with a clear but hard tone and ignores Roy's annoyed sigh. "I'm here to… to…"  
  
Roy quirks a brow at the younger man as he turns away. He waits a moment, for Tim to piece together a sentence with empty words. He waits for him to find the right thing to say. He knows what this is about, anyway. It's always the same shit. Always.  
  
"I'm just…" Tim winces and he looks so frustrated that Roy thinks he's gonna stomp his foot and cross his arms and pout, for a moment.  
  
"You're just what?" He asks instead.  
  
Then Tim moves across the space between them like a fucking whirlwind and before Roy even has a chance to react the black haired man is sitting on his knees before him and taking his face in his hands. The gloves are cold against his skin. It burns.  
  
"I'm just so fucking worried about you," Tim says quietly and his cyan eyes are shining with something unknown. Not pity. Roy would've punched him if he even thought about pitying him. He wishes Tim could've kept his mask on. It'd make this conversation a lot easier.  
  
Roy rolls his eyes and tries to turn his head away but Tim's grip is too firm and Roy just wants to choke himself.  
  
"Sure you are," he mutters coldly and refuses to meet Tim's eyes. Refuses to admit defeat. Defeat in a battle that does not exist.  
  
"I am," the younger of the two whispers and Roy's eyes are taking in the red of his suit.  
  
Red Robin. It's always red. Always. Arsenal is red too and together they're standing out against the black sky like perfect targets. Roy's aim is still good, and if he focuses well enough he'll probably be able to hit the target in one go. Hit himself.  
  
_Five, four, three, two and one. Shoot, hit, whisper your goodbye and you're gone_.  
  
He doesn't.  
  
Tim is shaking him carefully to bring him back to reality. The younger man's eyes are wide and his dark hair is falling into his face like it's framing a painted picture.  
  
He's wearing the suit of Red Robin but right now he's Tim and Roy's wearing Arsenal's suit but he's not sure who he is. Their suits are both red, anyway. Always red. Red like blood and Roy wishes that he could feel relieved over the lack of blue but red reminds him of death and he shudders.  
  
Maybe there's a reason why _red_ means _scared_ in Swedish.  
  
Same word, just a different spelling. A different meaning. Another thing. But Roy thinks that red is much rather an emotion than a colour and maybe he should just flee to Sweden.  
  
"Roy? Can you hear me?" Tim asks him when he spaces out again and he only nods. He eyes Roy silently, like he's not convinced, but doesn't question him.  
  
The younger man sighs and he lets go of Roy's face to take his gauntlets off. The next time Tim's hands make contact with his face it's bare skin against bare skin and his grip is no longer firm. It's gentle in a way that is completely alien to Roy.  
  
"You've been losing weight," Tim mumbles and it's more a statement than a question. He gives Roy the chance to move away, to refuse his hold, but he doesn't.  
  
"You've gotten so thin and pale and you don't even look after your wounds anymore, do you?" He says quietly and Roy doesn't realize that Tim has moved one of his hands away until his fingers trace the track marks on his left arm.  
  
The redhead stays quiet the whole time and looks away from his arm when the desire is becoming too much to handle. He needs to get out of there immediately.  
  
He pulls his arm away and Red Robin's hand falls to the cold roof they're sitting on. He clenches his jaw and the pull inside of him is only growing stronger and stronger and his skin is itching so bad that he just wants to crawl out of it. His hands are trembling.  
  
"I need to--" he starts to say but doesn't get to finish his sentence. His poor excuse.  
  
"No," Tim cuts him off. His eyes are sharp like ice. Cyan ice.  
  
Roy turns his head back to glare at the younger man so fast that he gets dizzy. He blinks a few times before he can meet Tim's eyes. "What?"  
  
"No, you're not leaving only to put that deadly shit in your system," Tim's voice is firm and the redhead can feel his own blood almost boiling.  
  
"You can't decide that."  
  
"I just did."  
  
It shouldn't matter. It shouldn't, but it does.  
  
Roy clenches his fists and shoves Tim away so he can get up. He doesn't get far, though, before he's being tackled to the ground again by a smaller but much stronger body. It knocks the air right out of his lungs and he gasps.  
  
"You're not going anywhere!" Tim hisses in his face as he pins Roy to the roof. He's breathing heavily with anger. "I won't let you!"  
  
Roy tries to shove him off again but he's stuck and there's no point in even trying. He knows he should give up and let Tim take him back to the cave or whatever so the big bat can give him one last scolding before sending him away to some rehab far away. But pride and victory tastes too good and he can't give in. Doesn't want to.  
  
"Get off of me!" he yells instead and pulls at his hands, wanting so badly to escape Tim's tight grip.  
  
"No, Roy, listen to me!" Tim yells back and he's sure their fight can be heard at the other side of Gotham. "You need help! I'm worried sick about you and I refuse to let you go so you can destroy yourself like it's your only purpose in life!"  
  
Roy snorts and narrows his eyes at the younger man. With a shuddering breath he asks him, "If that's not my purpose, then why the fuck am I still here? That shit is the only thing keeping me grounded!"  
  
Tim purses his lips into a thin line and frowns at the man beneath him. Roy has always been too much like a country in ruins after a cold blooded war. The battlefield is his own body. The gunfire echoes through his head. Tim looks away, exhausted.  
  
"That's not true," he whispers softly but his grip on Roy's wrists remain tight.  
  
"It fucking is," the redhead shoots back.  
  
Tim snaps back to him with fresh anger so hot that Roy's certain he'll breathe fire through his nose when glaring at him. He doesn't, but it wouldn't have surprised the archer if he did.  
  
"Fuck you, Roy Harper!" He raises his voice again, fingers digging into Roy's wrists. He struggles to breathe. "You can't even see the most obvious things!"  
  
The older man parts his lips to answer but can't for Tim is speaking again.  
  
"Fuck, he loves you! He really loves you and you're hooked on heroin and I'm fucking done."  
  
But Roy isn't listening anymore because Jason Todd can't love. The man himself said so once. Not after his death. Not after the pit. Not now, not ever.  
  
Later, long after Tim got up and left, the redhead is still laying on top of the hard stone roof and he's not sure if he's still alive or if he finally can be at peace. It's dawn.  
  
_ _ _  
  
"What's it like?"  
  
To say that he's shocked by Jason's sudden presence is an understatement. He never really expected to see him outside of his dreams ever again. But yet here he is, on the other side of Roy's open apartment door, with a burning gaze and messy hair. Roy resists the urge to reach up and run his finger's through the thick strands.  
  
It's like time is repeating itself. The last time they stood like this, with Roy on the inside and Jason on the outside, he had been ready to run until his legs couldn't carry him any longer. Then, he would run some more. Far, far away until he lost his breath and collapsed.  
  
But now, he's not sure if he could do that. He can't even run anymore.  
  
So instead he raises a brow at the taller man and asks, "What's what like?"  
  
Jason rolls his eyes. His deep teal eyes. Not Tim's cyan orbs. Teal, teal, so much teal and he feels like he's gonna choke on the colour. "What's it like to be needed?" Jason then says.  
  
They fall into silence. It's a suffocating silence with no sign of comfort or joy or anything but a harshness cutting into their bones. It's like time stops. It's like Roy dies. _Finally_ , he thinks.  
  
But he's not really dying and the hesitation is clear in his voice when he asks, slowly and carefully, "I… wouldn't know?"  
  
There's a flash of hurt passing over Jason's features, but it quickly disappears only to turn into anger. Raw, hot, burning anger. Much like the man himself. Anger will probably always be the emotion to represent him the best. It's also the emotion he fails the most to contol.  
  
He shoves past Roy into his apartment and he's yelling, breathing heavily, "You son of a bitch, Harper, you really don't see it do you?" Roy just shuts the door.  
  
They fall quiet again. It's still a tense silence and Roy really fucking hates it when it's this quiet. No sounds besides Jason's panting. The darker haired man has always preferred it when it's silent, but the redhead believes Jason would appreciate and prefer anything but _this_. It's quiet, yes. But it's also eating them alive.  
  
It's not until Roy looks away from Jason that it finally hits him. He's pretty sure he just ran straight into a brickwall and he wishes he could just pass out like what usually would've happened but this is no real wall. This wall is in his head.  
  
"Fuck," he mutters under his breath. It gains Jason's attention.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Fuck, Jay, you motherfucker."  
  
Jason quirks his brow and crosses his arms over his chest. "I'm the motherfucker? Really?"  
  
Roy narrows his eyes at him and swallows thickly around the lump in his throat. Then he says, through a breath, "You needed me."  
  
Jason tilts his head to the side, like he's thinking about just kicking Roy in the face before leaving because really, he deserves that. But the redhead is speaking again and he listens, as always. "Tim spoke the truth, then. You need me."  
  
At that, Jason frowns. "Drake said wha--"  
  
But he doesn't get to finish that sentence because Roy is throwing himself at Jason with such force it almost knocks him over and before he can ask what the fuck he's doing, there's a pair of lips pressed against his own. A pair of pink, chapped lips that he's missed oh so much.  
  
He hates himself a little bit for kissing Roy back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am v sorry for giving jason so many emotions lmao poor boy i love him


	3. Teal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ah, yes, i lied when i said i wasn't gonna put this shit on hold. sorry about that! but i told myself i wasn't gonna hit the one year mark before updating, and i think i made it with like a week. so here's the very last chapter! xx

It's never like the stories he were told when he was young.

The stories, with frogs and fairies and magic apples and happy endings. Life has never been quite like those stories and Roy believes he's a fool for ever thinking that hey, maybe his life will turn out that way, too. He was only five, sure. But he's still a fool who can't help but wish his life could be a bit more like a fairytale.

But drugs do not exist in fairytales. Addictions and guns do not exist in fairytales and Jason Todd certainly does not exist in fairytales.

Jason Todd, who is currently laying on Roy's beat up favorite couch with a cigarette hanging between his lips and an arm draped over his closed eyes. Jason Todd, who's always wearing a brown leather jacket and black boots and fucks Roy so good every night he almost starts to sob out of pleasure. Jason Todd, who pretends he doesn't see Roy sneaking away now and then into the bathroom with a bit of rope and a spoon, but still lingers by the door to make sure the redhead comes out _ alive _ .

Roy walks across the room on wobbly legs towards the couch pushed against the wall with the bedroom on the other side. Jason shifts when he's close enough to touch him, and he moves his other arm from his stomach in a silent invitation for Roy to join him.

The redhead moves to straddle the other man's waist and reaches down to pluck the lit cigarette from his lips. Jason snorts at him, mumbling, "Buy your own cigarettes, Harper."

Roy grins as he exhales the smoke poisoning him even further. He looks at the cigarette he's holding between two unsteady fingers and he knows for sure now, that he would miss his target completely if he ever decides to pick up his bow again.

"Can't," he says with a shrug as he ashes the cigarette. "I'm a junkie, remember? I'm fucking broke."

He can feel Jason tensing before slowly moving his arm away from his face. He cracks his eyes open and there it is again, the most dangerous shade of blue.

"It's almost like you expect me to forget about the heroin only so you can remind me every five minutes," he mutters with a raise of a brow. "Well, I don't. So stop mentioning it. It's sickening."

Roy pouts at him as he reaches down to place the cigarette between Jason's lips again. But the pouting is soon followed by a smirk and he ruffles Jason's hair, teasingly uttering, "Aw, seems like I hit a sensitive spot, huh? Is that right, Jaybird?"

The man with the leather jacket scoffs and covers his eyes again with his arm. His left arm is hanging over the side of the couch. He resists the temptation to place it on Roy's hip, refusing to give into his teasing.

"Shut the fuck up, Ginger."

Roy ignores him and runs the pad of his thumb down the side of Jason's neck to his collarbones. His fingers dip under the collar of his shirt and his touch is ghosting, seeking, haunting. "You know," he mumbles softly. "They all keep telling me it'll kill me, but they won't ever say when."

Jason shrugs and it's quiet for a few seconds before he speaks around the cigarette, saying, "Sooner or later, I guess. In this case, probably sooner."

But that's not what he wanted to say, not exactly. What he really wanted to say was, "When you least expect it. When you think you're able to quit. When it's the hardest for me to let go."

Roy hums, completely unaware of the words dying on Jason's lips. "Why do you hate it so much, anyway?" He asks. His words are heavy and the younger man stills, his breath fading in his lungs. "Or is the question not appropriate?"

Jason shakes his head slowly and tries to focus on steadying his breathing. Some time passes before he finally says, "No. The question is not inappropriate, but the answer might be."

This time it's Roy moving his arm away from his face and when their eyes make contact again his breath hitches because there's so much concern in Roy's bright green eyes that still haven't lost their signature sparkle. Concern, not pity. Concern and something else that kind of scares Jason.

"It's okay," Roy whispers as his fingers stroke Jason's face slowly, carefully. "I'm here."

The dark haired man sighs as he finally leans into Roy's trembling touch. He reaches for the cigarette between his lips and puts it out against the table next to the couch. When he speaks again, he's not looking directly at Roy. He's looking at the wall behind him. "I just…" His voice is distant, almost empty.

"You just what?" The redhead asks when too much time has passed for it to be a normal break between two sentences.

Jason shrugs, then talks like he's ripping a band aid off. "My mother died of an overdose. Not the one who let me die, as well, but the woman who raised me. She OD'd and I was all alone and, well…" He trails off when it's getting too painful to speak.

He's still not looking at Roy even though Roy is looking at him and the archer can see the hurt clear in his teal orbs. It never really goes away.

"I'm sorry," he mutters softly which only earns him another shrug from Jason.

"It's okay," then he shakes his head a little and laughs. It's a quiet and bitter laugh and he doesn't laugh a lot but when he does, it's never happy. Jason Todd hasn't tasted true happiness for a while now. It's like expensive food that he cannot afford but he would do anything for a bite of it. "It's just that, fuck, when you lose your mom, it's gonna mess you up a little."

Roy can only nod and sigh because yeah, he knows exactly what it's like.

_ _ _

"You know," Roy says softly when he walks into the bedroom again. He's drying his half long hair with a towel that Jason guesses originally was white but no longer is. "I think the day we figure out everything about our lives, is the day we die."

Jason snorts back a sarcastic laugh and leans his head against a pillow propped up against the wall. He had been on patrol earlier, hence why he's still in his Red Hood suit. The mask is off, though. He feels naked without it. "I died once. Came back even more lost than before."

Roy stops dead in his tracks and lets the towel fall to the floor. He fixes Jason with a glare that isn't sharp but more like disapproving. The younger man figured it out not too long ago, that Roy feels the same about his death that he feels about Roy's heroin addiction. Neither likes hearing the other talk about it like it doesn't matter. Like they don't care. Like it's okay. It isn't.

"Very funny, Jay. I'll let you tell me more about it after I'm done sticking needles into every vein I can find," Roy's glare is now challenging and Jason knows exactly what he's doing. He's using his addiction against him. It works most of the time.

It's a dirty move, but Jason is no fair player, anyway. He uses his death against Roy when he notices fresh wounds on his arms. When his eyes are more black than they are green. When he vomits until he can't breathe.

But Jason just shrugs because it's easier to pretend that he does not care even though they both know he does. Then he reaches into his jacket pocket for his cigarette packet,  _ still Marlboro _ , Roy notices, and puts it between his lips, next to his already half smoked cancer stick. It's only to prove a point.

" _ Each cigarette cuts a day from your life _ ," Roy had said to him once, when they were comparing addictions. " _ It's still fucking dangerous _ ."

The dark haired man smirks and takes a drag, then he says, before putting the cigarettes back between his lips, "There goes two days at the same time, sweetie."

The redhead rolls his eyes and picks up the towel from the floor only to throw it at Jason's face. He ignores the echoes of Jason's hysterical cackling as he leaves the room again.

When he comes back, the younger man seems to be asleep. Roy knows better than to think he is, though. He seems to be too peaceful to actually be sleeping. His dreams are always too violent. Always about a crowbar.

"Don't," Jason mumbles. His voice is hoarse. His eyes are still closed. The cigarettes are on the floor, put out. "Come here, baby."

Roy considers putting up a fight but instead he obeys. He stands up from where he had been kneeling in front of an old bag, searching through it for tiny a ziploc. He moves to sit down next to Jason on the beat up bed that has seen brighter days, that needs new sheets.

"Also, give me my lighter back," Jason opens his eyes this time, staring at Roy, trapping him in a bubble with toxic air.

At first the redhead is shocked that the other man knows that he took it. But then he reminds himself that yeah, Red Hood used to be Robin and he was trained by the big bat himself. Of course he knows. So he opens his hand and lets the lighter fall to the nightstand next to Jason's head.

"Happy now?" He quirks a brow at Jason. It earns him a shake of the head.

The blue eyed man wraps his long and calloused fingers around Roy's upper arm and the redhead's breath hitches at the back of his throat. Jason is following his hand with his gaze but Roy is trapped in his teal orbs. He stops at the thin rope tied around Roy's arm and removes it in one swift motion, then tosses it away.

"Don't," he mumbles again and Roy can only nod and swallow down the voice telling him to do it. To find the ziploc and grab the lighter and disappear into the bathroom again for a while. "I can make you think or something else, this time."

At that, Roy smirks. It's a hungry smirk carved out of lust. He knows what Jason means and his thoughts are confirmed when the younger of the pair sits up and tilts Roy's head up with a thumb on his chin and his index finger under it.

When their lips meet, it's raw and rough and violent and so  _ Jason  _ and Roy's not sure if he'll ever really get used to it. The feeling of destruction in the shape of a human being. Some nights, when Jason has left long ago, he's starting to believe he has more than a heroin addiction. He's not sure what's worse.

"You're thinking again," Jason mumbles when their lips part and Roy rolls his eyes.

"Can't help it. I have a working mind and thinking is kind of a side effect to that shit," he shoots back just as Jason dives in to nip at his neck. He can feel the younger man snort against his skin, clearly amused and unamused at the same time. He's not sure how it works, but so far he's only seen Jason pulling it off successfully.

"Working mind, but still you're slowly killing yourself," he breathes against Roy's neck, sending a shiver along the redhead's spine. He smirks, the man with the dark hair, his lips brushing cold skin for every word leaving them. "Slowly. Oh so slowly."

Roy whimpers and he would've been embarrassed if it wasn't such a usual reaction to everything Jason does to him. He exhales with a shudder and lets his head fall slightly to the left, baring his neck even further. He can feel Jason's tongue licking a stripe to his jaw before searching and finding  _ that _ spot. He bites down, slowly, teeth sinking into pale skin and hot flesh, then he sucks until a dark bruise is painting Roy like he's a canvas and Jason is working on his life's greatest masterpiece.

He whimpers, the man with the heroin addiction, and before he can think, before he knows it, he has a fistful of Jason's thick hair and he's pushing the younger man closer against him cause he can't resist anymore. Can't hold back. Some people need an addiction to cope, to rely on, as an excuse. Roy Harper now has two. Both are dangerous. He needs more.

"Want you to fuck me," he mumbles somehow, surprised he can still form proper sentences. His hands are moving down to Jason's chest, along the slick material of his suit, under his jacket, sliding it off of his shoulders. "In your leather jacket."

Jason chuckles against his neck, the sound a low rumble deep in his chest and Roy almost melts under his touch. "That can be arranged," he whispers huskily and only then is Roy aware of the strong fingers gripping his thigh before he's pushed back into the mattress, Jason hovering above him like he's starved for Roy since he first laid his eyes on him.

The younger man slides the jacket off the rest of the way and puts it aside for the moment. Roy can feel his fingers slipping under his shirt, brushing against his abdomen then his stomach as he pushes the shirt up, slowly, teasingly, with hunger and lust. The readhead raises his arms over his head, giving the younger man permission to take the shirt off completely. He does.

Jason's gaze is burning, so different from the rest of his actions. He's in control, can't stand it when he's not. But there's something about his eyes that is gentle. Sincere, almost. Before Roy can figure it out, though, Jason looks down to his hands where they're sprawled out on Roy's stomach, disappearing abs moving under his rough palms. And just like that, the moment is over, like it never really happened at all.

Roy can feel his breath hitch as Jason's fingers dip under the waistband of his sweatpants. His touch is light and so different from what Roy is used to and he wants to scream at the emotions bubbling around in the pit of his empty stomach. The heroin replaced his hunger long ago. Jason never mentions anything. He's not sure how to approach the difficult subject.

He's aware of Jason watching him, eyeing his body, like it might be the last time he'll get the chance to do it. Roy figures there might be something deeper behind that reason than he wants it to be. Like he will fucking overdose or some shit and they'll never fuck again. He almost laughs out loud at the thought. Instead he just gives Jason a nod and said man are slowly pushing his sweats down his hips, over his thighs, all the way off so he can toss them away.

Jason's hands are gripping his thighs, rubbing small circles into his skin with his thumbs and Roy tries not to get lost in the sensation. He tries not to. He fails. Then he can feel the younger man's hands moving to his hips, the pads of his thumbs now pressing into his hipbones before hooking in the waistband of his underwear. Seconds later, he's completely naked.

Roy opens his eyes when the mattress dip as Jason stands. His back is turned towards the redhead and the room is quiet as he undresses, taking his suit off piece by piece, guns dropping to the floor like they weren't used to kill just a few hours ago. The taller man takes his time but Roy doesn't say anything. He just waits. He hates waiting.

Finally, Jason turns back to the man still laying on the bed. He's smirking, which is not an odd thing. Roy is always torn between wanting to punch or kiss it off his face. Most of the time, he does neither.

The mattress dip again under Jason's weight when he returns to his position hovering above the red haired man. "With or without?" He asks Roy as he leans down to trail kisses along the curve of his collarbones, stopping to nip at the skin now and then.

"I'm still clean," Roy answers, which is true. He never shares his needles with anybody else. Never sleeps with anybody else. Jason only hums and sucks another mark to Roy's throat.

When the younger man pulls away, Roy can hear the sound of a bottle of lube being opened. He shivers, the unsteady  _ thump, thump, thump _ of his heart threatening to burst through his ribcage any moment now. It’s cold, the cool substance dripping from Jason’s fingers and onto Roy’s abdomen.

Then he moves, the man above Roy, leaning on one arm to nudge Roy’s legs further apart, the other moving down the redhead’s body until, finally, calloused fingertips circle his hole. The touch is barely there, just ghosting over his pale skin, making goosebumps appear on his wounded arms. It makes him whimper softly without shame. Then, like Jason decides that actually fucking Roy is way better than just making him whimper and squirm, the first finger pushes through into the tight heat of Roy’s ass.

He lets out a gasp, his head tipping back onto the dirty mattress, damp hair staining the unwashed sheets. His fingers flexes then unflexes, desperately wanting to grasp something, to bury his fingers into something solid and never let go. Not until he’s well fucked, at least. Jason’s finger is soon followed by another one, then a third, opening him up slowly and steady, so different from how they usually do this. Roy doesn’t question it, can’t bring himself to speak.

It doesn’t take all that long for the younger man to stretch him, readying him so he can be fucked harder, rougher, faster. Then Jason moves off him, leaving Roy wanting more the moment his fingers leave his body.

Something heavy lands on his chest, and Roy opens his eyes to stare into Jason’s piercing blue ones. They’ve lost a bit of their colour, he notices. They’re more dull than they’re supposed to be, more hooded than Roy remembers. He wonders for how long they’ve been like that, and how he hasn’t noticed before. Now though, the pupils are dilated with lust and want and Roy is prepared to give until he has nothing left.

“Go on,” Jason mutters, voice thick with arousal, his breath hitting Roy’s lips. “Put it on.”

Then it clicks. Roy’s gaze flickers to the item covering part of his chest and stomach. He grasps it with trembling fingers, the worn out material so familiar in his hands after all the times he’s touched it before. It’s his first time wearing it, though. Jason is quite fond of his few possessions.

He does what he’s told. He rises slightly, enough to slide into the jacket with little effort. The heavy piece of clothing hugs him warmly, making the goosebumps slowly go away. It’s a tad bit big on him, Jason having broader shoulders. It could also be because of all the weight Roy’s lost, but he doesn’t dwell on it too long. All thoughts vanish from his mind when he meets Jason’s eyes again, filled with hunger. He licks his lips.

“You look good,” Jason tells him, leaning down to ghost his breath along his collarbones, sharp teeth nipping at the thin skin there. “So fucking good, Harper.”

Roy snorts, determined to always stay confident and nonchalant even when he’s about to have a dripping cock in his ass. “Like that’s actually news, Todd.”

Jason chuckles in response, clearly done with their short conversation. He shifts above Roy to sit up on his knees, strong hands gripping the redhead’s knees, thumbs rubbing his cold skin. He parts Roy’s legs again, settling between him like he always does, like he’s used to. It makes Roy’s breath hitch. Then he’s leaning over the older man again, faces just a few inches apart, and shifts his weight on one arm again to steady himself.

Jason’s other hand is gripping his own cock, pumping it once, then twice, before guiding it to Roy’s clenching hole. He slides in easily, all it takes is own swift motion and he’s slowly sinking into Roy’s tight heat, making him groan deep in his throat.

Roy is squirming, the pleasure filling him again too fantastic to put words on. He doesn’t want to, anyway. He’s never been too good with words. He shuts his eyes, teeth sinking into his raw bottom lip as Jason’s sinking into _ him, _ inch after inch.

At last Jason’s settled against him. His body is firm and warm and everything Roy isn’t. It’s like his anchor when they’re fucking, something to make sure that he doesn’t float away to Wonderland in the middle of it. Jason’s catching his breath, Roy can tell, his lungs caving in on him after the tiniest bit of effort. He wants to blame him, really, because it’d be a lot easier if Jason didn’t smoke whenever he has an opportunity. Most of the time he doesn’t even wait for one. Jason Todd does not follow orders, he finds them simply too stupid to even pay attention to.

At some point he starts to move. Deep thrusts in and out of Roy’s tightness. The pace is slow, but it burns all the same. The redhead’s lips are parted, tiny noises of pleasure slipping past them every time Jason’s cock fills him up again. His grasping at Jason’s back, short but sharp nails digging into the skin there to leave marks. Always to leave marks.

They’re moving together faster now, the headboard already hitting the wall behind them and it’s so easy, so fucking easy to forget the rush of heroin with Jason buried so deep inside of him. He’s fucking him into the mattress like their lives are depending on it, like they can’t breathe if they stop.

Roy can only gasp and moan the younger man’s name like it’s a prayer, and he’s never been much for begging, doesn’t actually believe in prayers, but in moments like this it’s all he knows. He can only dig his nails deeper into Jason’s back and whimper for  _ more and more and harder and more _ until his moans can be heard through the open window and until he can only see stars and Jason’s teal eyes. His fucking teal eyes.

The leather jacket is stuck to his skin with sweat, beads of it running down his own back. It’s hot, but Roy is shivering. He figures it’s from pleasure. Jason is fucking him so good that Roy almost forgets about his own cock trapped between the heat of their bodies. He longs to touch it.

Jason’s breath is hitting Roy’s lips again as he’s panting, eyes shut with pleasure. Roy surges upwards, catching his lips in a messy kiss that mostly consists of heavy pants and wet tongues. It’s so good and he wants more, needs more, he swears he craves it. And like he’s reading Roy’s thoughts, Jason is speeding up the pace even more, fucking his lover like there is no tomorrow.

“Wanna see you come,” Jason mutters into the crook of Roy’s neck after they’ve broken the kiss. He lifts his head again, staring into Roy’s emerald eyes. “Think you can come untouched, babe?”

The older man nods almost furiously, pushing away every thought about wanting to stroke his own cock. He can come without being touched, yeah. He’s done it plenty of times before. Jason has seen him do it every time. All it takes is a few more thrusts that’s making his ass ache, then his spilling all over his stomach and part of the jacket he’s wearing.

It’s messy, having come smeared over your burning skin, but he can’t exactly claim that he isn’t used to it by now. Jason soon follows, burying himself deep inside Roy’s ass and letting go with a shiver. The first time he let another man come inside him, it felt strange. It felt sticky and weird. He’s not lying though, when he says that he almost loves it now.

Jason collapses on top of him, panting heavily as he enjoys the bliss of his orgasm. Roy doesn’t complain, it’s nice to have another body to keep him warm. When Jason finally sits up, he feels the heat leave his body immediately, leaving him a sticky and cold mess.

“Fuck,” Jason breathes out. He runs a calloused hand through his already messy hair. Roy can feel come drip down his inner thigh. “Fucking hell.”

The redhead grins at his partner, teeth flashing in that mad way of his. “Yeah,” he says, shifting on the bed so he’s lying on his side instead. “I know.”

“You always feel so fucking good, Harper,” Jason tells him and it makes him smirk. He likes knowing that he can make the younger man lose control like that. On the other hand, he doesn’t have a lot of control to begin with.

They sit in silence for a while, both men lost in their own thoughts. It’s dark outside and somewhere east from Roy’s flat sirens can be heard. He would’ve been worried if Gotham wasn’t the absolute city of crime. Jason reaches out to the nightstand, grabbing his lighter that Roy previously put there and his infamous packet of cigarettes.

“Really,” Roy huffs. He’s not surprised, not really.

“What?” Jason answers. It comes out as a mumble, a cigarette already placed between his plump lips. “After a good fuck you have a good smoke. That’s the rules, ginger.” he says through a cloud of smoke. A grin plastered on his features.

“And since when did you care about rules, Jaybird?” Roy questions with one eyebrow raised. He doesn’t get a response this time.

 

_ _ _

 

The following days are quiet. Unusually quiet. Roy would be worried, or suspicious, if Jason had not left his beloved leather jacket with him a couple of days ago. But on the other hand, it’s the only sign he’s gotten from the younger man since then. He’s not seen him at all. He has long since stopped looking for him.

It’s in the middle of the night, which is when the Bat and his family awakens to patrol the never sleeping city. Roy is dressed to go out, having a short meeting with a man dressed in all black and a worn out trench coat booked. He’s been looking forward to this for a while now, the mountain of empty zip locs just growing higher and higher on the bathroom floor.

He startles when there’s a sudden knock on the window in the livingroom. Grabbing the gun on the kitchen counter, he moves slowly through the shadows towards where the noise came from. At a closer look he recognizes the figure sitting on the window sill, and he lowers the gun to pry the window open.

Tim lands on the floor with a soft thud, waterdrops landing around his feet. He’s soaking wet from the rain outside. Roy rolls his eyes and tosses the gun away, it’s not loaded anyway, and it lands on the couch before clattering to the floor. He can see the questioning look on Red Robin’s face.

“I see you’ve been hanging out with my brother a lot lately,” he tells Roy as he eyes him, taking in the leather jacket hiding Roy’s bony torso. “So that’s why he’s not been wearing his jacket when on patrol. Interesting.”

Roy snorts and crosses his arms. He really doesn’t feel like engaging in conversation with the younger man, especially not when he’s on his way to something very urgent and important. It’s almost like Tim knew about his plans and only came by to waste his time so he can’t leave the flat. It would not surprise the redhead at all.

“I can also see that you’ve grown very close, what with the shared guns and whatnot,” Tim then says, not even waiting for Roy to respond to his previous statement. Or, perhaps, he did not expect him to.

“That’s not Jason’s,” Roy says, following Tim’s gaze to the gun lying on the floor.

“I know,” Tim answers, cyan eyes turning back to Roy. “His are  _ black. _ I just thought that you prefer a bow and arrows.”

Roy grins at him. It’s wicked, teeth flashing and eyes sparkling with some kind of madness. It would make Tim uneasy if he hadn’t seen it so many times before. “Really,” Roy says. Tim raises both brows at him. “I can’t even remember the last time I actually picked up my bow, babybird, let alone fired an arrow with it.”

Tim doesn’t answer him. They stand in silence and Roy knows that the younger man is stubborn, that he’s not the type to give up. But back in the days, neither was Roy. Time changes things. He used to be reckless and impulsive, two defining traits of his. But at some point, they turned against him.

“Well,” Roy mutters at last, a spring making a shrill noise as he takes a seat on the old couch, “Why are you here? Like, actually here and not some half assed lies.”

Tim shrugs, and like he usually does when he pays Roy a visit, he starts to move around the room, pretending to look at things. He picks up a photography, it must be at least ten years old now, if not more. Roy recognizes the frame. It’s the photography he always leave facing down, but can’t bring himself to burn or throw away.

“I just thought,” he starts off, then shrugs again, not looking away from the photography. It’s starting to bother Roy. “Well, I was just passing by and I thought I’d check in on you cause it’s been a while. I’m just here to see how you’re doing. Not good, obviously.”

Roy watches him from his seat on the couch. The younger man has put the photo away now, facing down like he found it. He’s moved closer to the coffee table, picking up an ashtray made of glass. “Won’t he miss you?” he asks.

“Who?” Tim asks, not actually interested in what Roy’s saying, judging from the way he’s still inspecting that God awful ashtray.

“Who? Bruce, of course,” the redhead responds.

“Nah,” Tim answers. He dips a finger into the ashtray, smudging his already back glove. “I’m not with Batman tonight. I’m with Dick.”

Roy raises an eyebrow at him, but in vain. Tim is still not looking at him, apparently too busy smudging his suit with ashes. He stands up, snatches the ashtray from the other man and tosses it away. It doesn’t earn him a reaction either. He guesses Tim was already expecting it. “Dick?” he asks, clearly annoyed. “Isn’t he supposed to be in Blüdhaven?”

Tim snorts at him, finally looking up to meet his eyes. There’s a challenge in them Roy doesn’t have time for. “So? Aren’t you supposed to be in Star City?”

Roy can’t say he didn’t expect it, that he did not have it coming. But if anything’s worse than his place in Gotham, it’s Star City. He swore he’d never go back once he left for good. There is nothing there for him.

“Star City is not my home,” he tells Tim coldly. It’s almost a whisper, but there’s only them in the flat and the silence is almost suffocating.

“And Gotham is?  _ This _ is?” Tim questions, gesturing around him with his arms, growing furious. “This is not your home, Roy! There is so much more out there for you, someplace that isn’t  _ here.” _

Roy wants to argue with that, because he knows that there is not much left for him anywhere. Not in Gotham, not in Blüdhaven, and certainly not in Star City. The latter is Oliver Queen’s place. It’s his city and Roy would rather die than go back there. He’d rather die a hundred times, to begin with.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Tim says softly. It snaps Roy out of his thoughts. “But there is a place for you, too, Roy. It just isn’t here. I’m not trying to be harsh, but you need to stop clinging onto things that can’t even anchor you. There is nothing for you here.”

And maybe he’s right. Maybe there’s nothing for Roy left in Gotham. Maybe there never was. Tim is gone before he’s even begun to meddle on the idea. It’s almost dawn when he’s come to the conclusion that perhaps it isn’t the cities that are wrong for him, but he is wrong for the cities. He figures that perhaps he can’t bring sorrow and misery with him and expect to find his place.

There’s nothing he’s going to do about it, anyway. Not now, not tomorrow, not at all.

 

_ _ _

 

The next time Jason shows up Roy hasn’t slept for a few days. It’s no big deal, sleeping disorders is unfortunately pretty common. But he usually find his escapes from reality in sleep, at least when he can’t get high.

Jason is loud without saying anything. There’s a wild and reckless aura about him, making people flinch away when they look at him. He’s wicked grins, burnt out cigarettes, and fast motorcycles. He’s dirty boots, sharp knives, and deadly guns. He’s Jason Todd, and he always show up on Roy’s doorstep uninvited. Roy always lets him in.

He doesn’t speak a lot, only some sarcastic comments when the moment’s right, only some threats when he feels like it. But he has a loud personality. Not chattery, doesn’t give a shit about talking. But he walks loudly, shuts doors loudly,  _ exists loudly. _

Roy hates him. Really, he does. He hates everything about Jason Todd. They’re complete opposites, but so alike at the same time. Roy is charming smirks, flirty winks, and manic laughter of success. At least he used to be, when he was younger. It was the Roy he was when Jason first met him.

He has a chatty personality, just talking to fill the silence. He’s never been much for quiet, claims it doesn’t suit him. He’s messy hair, a sharp tongue, and even sharper arrows. He’s everything Jason isn’t, but their traits collide anyway.

Roy has no idea what time it is, or even what day it is, when he’s met with Jason standing in his apartment building, just outside his door. He’s not the Red Hood, he never is when he pays Roy a visit. But this time he’s not in his suit. This time it’s ripped jeans and a dirty tee, but still boots. Always boots. They used to be black, Roy can tell, but years of wearing them everyday has worn them out.

The jacket is missing, Roy notices immediately. It’s lying on the redhead’s bed. He won't admit to it, but when he’s having trouble sleeping, like he’s had lately, the jacket is some kind of comfort. It makes him feel less lonely when the night reaches its darkest point.

“Did you vomit on your shirt?” Jason asks, teal eyes glancing down for a few seconds before looking up again.

Roy shrugs because yeah, he probably has. But he doesn’t remember, nor does he know for sure, cause the days just blur together into a mess and he can’t make out much of them anymore when they come to an end. It doesn’t matter anyway, it’s nothing unusual.

“Good to see you, too,” he mutters as he steps aside to let Jason in. The younger of the pair doesn’t make his way into the living room like he usually does.

He stands there, the door shutting behind him with a bit of force. He’s looking at Roy and there’s something in his eyes that Roy recognizes as concern. He’s touched, really, but he doesn’t like to see it in Jason’s eyes. It takes a lot before he grows concerned, if he does at all.

“Roy,” he says. It’s soft and the redhead can tell that he’s struggling to find the right words to his thoughts. There’s a lot he has to say, it’s obvious. But Roy can’t let him.

“Jason,” he cuts him off, eyeing him briefly. “Why are you here?”

Jason’s features hardens instantly and they turn into the man Roy knows. There is nothing soft about Jason Todd. At least not in his world.

“Just wanted to see how you’re doing,” he responds, aiming for being nonchalant. Like he doesn’t care. Roy sees right through it, he’s learned a lot about Jason’s quirks and body language now.

“Why?” Roy shoots back. He doesn’t know why he’s picking a fight. Part of him can’t seem to stop it, the constant bickering.

“Why? You know why,” the other man tells him, fixing him with a glare that used to make him uneasy. This time it just makes him snort.

“You don’t need me,” he says, brushing him off. He wants to walk away, wants to make his partner follow him through the apartment in an attempt to talk some sense into him. He wonders, just briefly, if Jason would follow him around the world only to get to say something he’s been wanting to say. Only to win.

“You don’t know me,” Jason fires at him. He supposes there is some truth to that. Nobody is allowed to know him.

“No shit, Todd,” he snaps. “Do you even know yourself?” It’s a low blow, because Roy doesn’t know himself either. But he can’t stop. He can’t stop once he’s started. He can’t stand the concern pooling in Jason’s eyes, can’t stand acknowledging that he’s growing more and more attached. It’s easier to just aim for the usual. The fury in his teal eyes is something Roy’s at least extremely familiar with.

“Why do I even bother,” Jason mumbles and Roy knows it’s more to himself that anyone else, but he can’t help thinking the same thing. Why the fuck do they even bother?

“If you feel that way then you shouldn’t have fucking come,” the redhead mutters. The thing about controlling Jason is that it’s, well, impossible. But it’s possible to guide him, even if it’s not much. So making him think that leaving was his decision, and not something Roy pushed him to do, will work because it’ll be on his conditions. Roy can take the hit.

“I don’t fucking get you, Harper,” he responds. His voice is dripping with ice. “You’re fucking impossible. One moment you look at me like nothing else matters and it’s just us, for the rest of the night. Next thing I know you can’t bear looking at me and you’re fleeing the city and your only purpose in your miserable life is your fucking heroin!”

When he’s done he’s panting, fists clenched at his side. It doesn’t take a lot to tick him off, but it surely takes a lot to make him lose it all. Not this time, though. This time it only took Roy a few words. He’s not sure why he’s proud with himself.

Roy leaves him then. He walks to the bathroom and when he comes back Jason’s in the living room, like there is nothing going on. Like it’s supposed to be. He’s lying on the couch, his favorite place, and there’s already a cigarette hanging from his lips. It’s the Jason he knows. It’s _ his _ Jason.

The redhead takes a seat on the floor, between the coffee table and an armchair. It’s a routine he can do in his sleep; the mixing of the white powder with some water in a bent spoon. Jason doesn’t watch him, doesn’t look at him. His eyes are closed, but Roy knows better than believing he’s actually sleeping.

The rest of the process is easy. He tosses the lighter away when he’s done heating the mix up. On a second thought, the lighter probably doesn’t even belong to him. A piece of rope is tied tightly around his upper arm. It’s all just part of his daily life. He knows Jason would be disgusted if he weren’t so god damn used to it now. He’s seen it plenty of times before, Roy knows.

“You know the feeling’s mutual, right?,” Jason tells him through a cloud of smoke. He has an arm draped over his eyes again, shielding them from the light outside.

Roy snorts, stealing a glance at the other man before looking for an unused vein. He’s coming down short, there aren’t many left. “What the fuck are you even talking about?”

“I really fucking hate you, too,” he responds and Roy can hear the smirk curling behind his words. It’s the most Jason Todd thing ever, still picking a fight when he didn’t even come by to start one.

“I thought you love me?” the redhead asks, although it sounds more like a statement than a question. He’s finally found a vein.

Jason ashes his cigarette. Roy watches him out of the corner of his eye, just to see if he’s going to make an attempt at stopping him, perhaps taking the little fight further. He doesn’t. And neither does he question Roy, like he somehow expected that he’d know already, that he’s in love with him. Roy wouldn’t have known if Tim hadn’t told him all those nights ago.

“Same shit,” the dark haired man mutters, taking another drag of his cigarette. Roy doesn’t bother responding. He finally pushes the needle through the skin.

And later, much later, when he’s coming down from yet another high, Jason is still there. He’s still there when Roy is shuddering and sweating at the same time. When he’s screaming and kicking and seeing things that Jason can’t see. when he’s sneezing and coughing and craves water more than anything, but he can’t speak because his mouth is too dry. He’s there when Roy’s retching, vomit now also staining Jason’s tee. He’s already craving another dose.

It’s not beautiful. There is nothing beautiful about what Roy’s become. There is nothing beautiful of what he used to be. There is nothing beautiful about them, about Jason and Roy, about their love. It’s tragic, but never beautiful. It can’t be at the same time.

They’re lying on the floor together. Jason is careful to keep Roy on his side and not on his back or stomach, the possible retching still a danger. The older man is shivering, but he has Jason’s jacket draped over his torso. The apartment is chilly from unpaid bills.

“Sometimes,” Jason mutters as he pushes a strand of long, greasy hair away from Roy’s pale face, “Sometimes I’m hoping you would quit, for me. Sometimes I find myself wishing that I matter enough for you to stop.”

“You do matter,” Roy coughs out. He sounds sleepy, but Jason knows he isn’t. He’s never sleepy after a high, just exhausted. He can never fall asleep after a fix.

“But then,” Jason says more clearly, ignoring Roy. “I wake up and I wanna rip my skin off and possibly shoot myself.”

“Don’t do that,” Roy answers, cracking his eyes open. It sounds childish, but at the same time he sounds genuinely upset. “Who else is supposed to be in love with me then?”

Jason snorts. He brushes his knuckles over the other man’s high cheek bone. He’s starting to look more like a walking skeleton for each passing day. He doesn’t mention it.

“Sometimes,” Roy keeps talking, his whisper barely audible, “Sometimes I think I only hate you because you’re too much like me.”

It’s not funny, nor is it cute, but Jason still manages the smallest of smiles. “Sometimes I think I only love you because you’re the complete opposite of myself,” he tells Roy after a moment.

“Yeah?” the redhead responds. Jason tells himself that he only imagined the hopeful tone behind it.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, confirming it. It’s not like Roy doesn’t know, but he’s also pretty gone so he doesn’t know if he’ll even remember.

“I love you, too,” he tells Jason then. And if Jason’s heart skips a beat and his breath hitches, Roy doesn’t notice.

“You know, for an archer an all, you’re pretty soft,” the younger man points out. It earns him a snort and a half assed grin. It’ll do.

“I’m an archer, Jason, not an arrow,” Roy shoots back and it’s supposed to be teasing, but for some reason it feels like he’s fired an arrow right then and it hits Jason right in the chest.

He shrugs, always going for acting like it doesn’t matter, that it’s no big deal. (It almost always is.) “Maybe you are,” he grits out. Roy gives him a questioning look. “Maybe you’re a fucking arrow cause seeing you like this hurts more than being slaughtered by the fucking Joker.”

Roy looks away from him, eyes glued to the wall behind his partner. He reaches up to scratch at a band aid he probably should’ve removed about a week ago. Then his stomach sinks with guilt, although another part of him burns because Jason’s still using his addiction against him. He’d claim it’s manipulative if he hadn’t been the same way.

“Yeah,” he whispers, burning eyes digging into Jason’s teal ones, almost creating lightning. “Maybe I’m an arrow as sharp as your eyes and you’re a god damn loaded gun and one of us will end up getting shot. The question is not _ if,  _ but more like  _ when.” _

At least that’s what he wanted to say, but his mouth is still too dry and he doesn’t wanna down another bottle of soggy water from the kitchen. So instead he just squeezes his eyes shut and takes another shuddering breath, cause he’s an arrow and Jason’s a gun and they’re both so dangerous and Roy just wants more and more and more until he’s fucking dead. Until he’s fucking OD’d and Jason’s shot himself. Or, perhaps, the other way around.

Outside it’s storming like the sky’s going to fall down and crush them both.

 

_ _ _

 

Roy thinks back to the place he was in a year ago. It wasn’t much better than now, but at least then he wasn’t completely falling apart. He thinks back to all the places he and Jason went, before Roy became too hooked and too ill to barely leave his own flat.

He thinks of the night when they had broken into a shut down apartment building. They were sat in silence, but Roy’s never been too good with silence. He’s never been too good with Jason. He thinks of how he had told the younger man how he’s thinking too much, and how funny it is now when he has so many thoughts it feels like his head is going to explode with every breath.

He remembers his fear of mortality back then, a fear he’s long ago gotten rid of. Jason never feared his mortality, not even before he died. They were always opposite in that way, because Jason didn’t care. If anything, he welcomed death. Roy’s not sure if he still does. Jason’s never been immortal, and the only difference that did was increasing his level of recklessness.

He remembers the night they had stood by the empty road, just waiting. Neither of them knew what they were waiting for. Anything, really. Anything at all. A sign, perhaps. Thinking of it now, Roy just wanted to be free. The freedom he has now is killing him though, because there is nothing liberating with being dependent on heroin.

He had asked Jason if he’s ever been in love. The answer he got was not the one he was expecting. He was met with manic laughter, then he was told to stay the fuck away from it. He snorts at the irony, because the person who told him to stay away from it is the person he loves the most, nowadays.

But there was something else about Jason that night that Roy didn’t notice. The man is an enigma, even harder to solve than the fucking Riddler. Jason has never been in love with anyone else before. He’s only ever been in love with Roy. And the younger man knew this back then, even though Roy didn’t find out until much later. It explains his behaviour that night by the road under the stars. It explains his reaction. Roy didn’t love him back.

It’s not like Roy Harper is unable to love, he just prefers not to. He had wanted to be in love so badly that he had thought he wasn’t able to anymore. He had wanted to be remembered for something, _ anything. _ Not for others, but for himself. The junkie. He’s going to be remembered as the junkie. Not Roy Harper, not as Speedy nor Arsenal, not as the possible son of Oliver Queen. It’s just Harper now. Harper the heroinist.

He wants to say that it’s okay, that he doesn’t mind. But he does. Another part of him believes it’s too late to start cleaning up his act, anyway. He’s long gone, dead to the world and almost dead in every other way possible, too.

But there’s also a third part that knows that if he got off the drugs, if he stopped with all this shit, it’ll be possible for him to finally love Jason like he wants to. Love him properly, wholly, always. And Jason will finally be able to love him like he should, like he can’t right now because Roy is far too gone. He’s far too dead. A walking corpse.

“I’m gonna quit,” he tells Jason one morning, snatching the cigarette from him to take a drag.

“Quit what?” the other man asks him, frowning slightly as he takes his cigarette back, twirling it between two fingers.

“You know what,” Roy responds, brushing Jason’s hair away from his forehead. He lets the streaks of white slip through his fingers last, always so much softer than the rest.

“Really,” Jason huffs out, almost sounding like he just choked on a cloud of smoke. “What made you decide that?”

Roy shrugs, still brushing his trembling fingers through his lover’s hair. He pauses, thinking of a way to put it into words. “There was an old man once, I have no idea who he actually was, I’ve just heard that he OD’d a while ago… but anyway there was this man with a really long, white beard, and he told us kiddos once that there are only two paths from here and which path to choose is only our decision. Only we can force ourselves to take one, cause it’s impossible to have both.”

“Yeah? What were the paths, then?” Jason asks him, ashing the cigarette onto the floor. For once, they’re not in Roy’s flat. They’re at Jason’s.

“Well, you know, the usual,” Roy answers, laying his head against his partner’s chest and closing his eyes. “We can either get clean and live, or keep shooting and die. Pretty obvious, but even though I feel like the second path is for me, it’s not necessarily the one I want.”

They fall into a silence then. It’s not comfortable, nor is it uncomfortable. It’s just them. Jason puts his cigarette out and wraps both arms around Roy. They exist together in silence, neither actually feeling quite alive at all.

“You know that’s your choice to make,” Jason mumbles into the top of his head, fingers grasping at the back of his jacket. “But you already know what I think, you know what I want. I want you, Roy Harper, and I can’t have you if you’re dead.”

Roy nods, knowing this already. It’s not the first time Jason’s brought it up. It’s probably not the last, either.

“But I also don’t cry over you. I won’t beg you to stay,” he says then, more clearly. He wonders for a second how many times he’s said that before, and how many more he’ll say it. He wonders if it turns it into some kind of begging, after all.

And Roy knows this too, because he’s his own person. He’s a grown man, functioning enough to make his own decision and choices. Jason can’t make him do anything, perhaps only make him do things for him. For  _ them. _

“Not all people in your life are meant to stay, Jay. Some of us are only temporary,” he tells the man lying beneath him. He can feel him huff, the small puff of wind hitting his hair.

“Yeah, alright,” Jason says, his grip of Roy loosening slightly. “All of them left though.”

“Not me,” Roy wants to say, but they both know it’s a lie. He doesn’t say anything at all.

 

_ _ _

 

Roy doesn’t clean up his act. He wanted to, he was going to, but he never had the chance to. It’s as if fate was moving faster than life, for once.

It’s been two days, only two fucking days since he was at Jason’s promising him,  _ them, _ things out of this world. And really, he was going to. He was going to quit once he had nothing left to use, when he had nothing left to shoot. He was going to seek help. He was going to be alive again.  _ They _ were going to be properly alive again.

But fate is a funny thing, because at some times it’s very possible to decide what’s going to happen. You choose your own life, your own fate. But other times life has other ideas, and things don’t work out like they were meant to. Roy always thought it was possible to control your own destiny, but only to a certain point. He was right, of course.

It’s a Tuesday noon and Jason woke up not too long ago. Being up all night combined with heavy sleeping meds is not something he isn’t used to, but it’s still taking it’s toll on him. He’s alone at his own place, hasn’t exactly seen Roy since his little visit.

And he shouldn’t worry, because Roy is going to quit. He should be on his way to a doctor at least, by now. But there’s something in the air that isn’t right. It’s heavy and suffocating and makes him freeze through all his thick layers of clothing.

He rolls over in bed, squinting at the sudden brightness outside. There’s a small dot on his phone blinking red. A missed call. Sleepily he reaches out to grab the phone, fumbling to unlock it to check who the caller was. It makes is heart drop, his stomach sink.

Roy. It was from Roy. He’s left a message and it shouldn’t be this disturbing and nerve wrecking but it is and he  _ can’t fucking breathe.  _ Pressing play, he squeezes his eyes shut to listen.

“It’s-- I know you’re asleep and I don’t wanna wake you but-- it feels strange. Everything feels strange. I-- I feel like I’m losing the balance and I can’t breathe, I feel like… like I’m suffocating on my own lungs and fuck-- I can’t… much longer and the needle’s stuck and there’s blood, Jay, there’s blood so I drew a bath but I feel like I’m drown--”

Then it ends. The message’s just over and Jason can’t press replay because he knows what’s going on. The message was left hours ago. He hurries out of bed, heart stuck in his throat. He can’t make it to Roy’s flat fast enough. He doesn’t.

 

_ _ _

 

Tim doesn’t expect a lot of calls, least of all from Jason. He’s running on no sleep and a lot of coffee, but the caller ID makes him alert. Jason doesn’t necessarily speak to him, about anything at all.

“Hello?” He rasps, rubbing his eyes with the back of his other hand.

“Tim-- It’s Jason,” a familiar voice says on the other end of the line. It is, indeed, Jason. Tim swallows his shock.

“What happened?” the younger man asks, dreading the answer.

“He’s fucking dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it wasn't going to be like this at all, then i thought "fuck a happy ending, this shit in real life usually doesn't end happily". remember kids, this relationship was toxic. they loved each other, yes, but it was unhealthy love and nothin about this shit should be romantic, it's not supposed to be. sorry bout that but! drug use and stable relationships just doesn't come together as a glamour kit. it's not fucking beautiful. take care! xx

**Author's Note:**

> i've written every chapter already so i can't leave this story hanging lmao
> 
> have a nice day u sugar bean


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